Confessions Of A Broken Heart
by idonrlycarenemore
Summary: Hermione has been reported dead for fifty years. Nobody seems to remember her, or care about her. But finally, there has been a breakthrough. Draco Malfoy has found her diary. Chapter 5 up...no not a mirage...
1. Chapter 1

_Dear Diary,_

_Something has happened to me._

_I feel different, as if oblivious to the inane measures that I have gone through to retrieve this information. _

_I shall never forget the wounded look in his eyes when I walked away, but I have been through this before. _

_Great deeds do not go unpunished. I know that I will look into his eyes and feel a pang of pain; but it is all for the best. _

_Harry has made his sacrifices; I have made mine. _

_I would feel no remorse, if not for what he said to me today. He called me a whore. _

_I suppose I never thought of it like that. I was the gopher of information. Now I am a whore. It is a big jump, but I suppose that it is naturally what would be said. It hurts me, but what would have knife scars to my body are now slow, tender pricks._

_I thrive from the information I have been given, but I die from the information I receive._

_Hermione. _

Draco looked up from the scroll of parchment he held in his hands, his cloudy grey eyes scanning the parchment, gnarled, wrinkled, ancient hands clutching aimlessly at the parchment. Potter, Potter must know. Potter must know that he, Draco Malfoy, his life virtually over, had found the life-book of his Hermione.

A/N-OK, this is the Prologue to the story. Do you like it, think it's bad? I would like to know!

Peaches,

Anya


	2. Enter Potter

Author's Note Ok, So far I've got pretty good response for this story (at least for me). There will be a diary entry in all of the beginning chapters. Please review!

* * *

'_You've got the wrong girl.'_

'_Nonsense, Hermione. We wanted an intelligent, hardworking…' Hermione shouted angrily, cutting him off unexpectedly._

'_You want a visual icon. You want an _unnamed _source. You don't want me.' She was adamant, but she knew that her sacrifice would not be in vain._

'_If I do it—' This was directed at Ronald Weasley, 'Will Harry die?' She thought not of herself, choosing instead to support her friends. Ronald Weasley was uncertain as to his approach; but they needed her. _

'_Of course Harry won't die. We will triumph. Lux lucis Mos Evalesco.' _

_Hermione sighed, repeating his comforting words._

'_Lux lucis Mos Evalesco. Light will prevail.'_

_

* * *

_

'You say you've got information, Malfoy.' Potter stood up from his mahogany desk, running a hand through his pitch-black hair, looking the same in his eighties as he had at thirty.

'Aging potion still running strong, then Potter.' Draco hissed provocatively, enjoying privately the tightening of Potter's jaw.

'Take comfort in your insipid remarks, _Mr. Malfoy, _and tell me what you take for.' Potter said calmly.

'It's Hermione.' Draco said seriously. He was not surprised when Potter sighed loudly. He had previously had dreams about Hermione, nightmares, and had come complaining to Potter like the coward he was.

'If it's another one of your goddamned dreams _again_ Malfoy, just take a draft of dreamless sleep, or the Draught of the Living Death, whichever you prefer, and call a healer.' He was agitated. 'Personally I would prefer the draught of actual death, you frightful bugger.'

It had been almost seventy years since the beginning of the war—a war still not resolved. Voldemort had been reincarnated, his body now that of a boy, kept young by Voldemort's corruption.

'You misunderstand me, Potter. I am not dreaming of her. Or perhaps I am. But whatever the circumstances, _this_, I am sure, is not a dream.' Draco produced a slim leather book from beneath his robes.

_Hermione Jane Granger_—embossed in gold on the front.

Potter was on him in a flash. 'Where did you find this? What does it mean?' He groped for the book, almost desperately, yearning to feel it in his hands. Draco's face produced a ghost of a smile, replacing the book beneath his robes.

'Irrelevant. I would assume that you were more interested in its contents, Mr. Potter.' Draco's smile became more apparent, still not reaching his cold eyes.

Potter recollected himself, straightening his glasses upon the bridge of his nose. 'Give it to me.' He said, eyes flashing before focusing on a point to the left of Draco's head.

'No. If I give it to you, you will not let me read it. I deserve to know, deserve to know what she wrote.' Draco's eyes began to fog; he began to cough uncontrollably.

'_Terminus_.' Potter said impatiently, waving his wand-hand in the air. 'Why did you inform me then? Surely it would have been more _beneficial_ to you to keep it to yourself?' Potter was mocking him, Draco realized. To his own amazement, he hadn't thought about his motives in telling Potter either.

'What if there's anything concerning the war in it, Potter? I'm sure you haven't forgotten L_ux lucis Mos Evalesco_. I am bound to the Light, I am almost forced to tell you of anything that may be _beneficial_ to the war. Even though I'd rather die for the side of the Dark.' Draco said, hearing the weakness of his lie.

'Nonsense. You are, _were_, a spy. You belong not to the prophecy, not to the divined words of the very phrase you state. Your motto is none other that Every Man for Himself. You have ulterior motives. But no matter. You wanted my permission to read her diary, if it is indeed a diary. Or—' Here Potter's face lit up, '—It is encoded. Bring it to me.'

Draco gritted his teeth before inching towards Potter, right hand grasping his wand tightly, left hand clutching Hermione's diary.

Potter outstretched his arm, palm up. "Accio." He said clearly, the book flying to his hand. Draco snarled. If Potter was going to use his oh-so-special wandless magic, then he wasn't going to play fair either.

"Engorgio." Draco removed his wand from deep within his bottomless pocket, pointing it directly at Potter's still outstretched appendage.

Potter determinedly stared at his enlarging wand-hand, watching the book slide to the floor.

'You bastard.' He said indifferently.

'Finite Incantatem.' Potter looked incredulously at Draco's wand, his hand deflating rapidly. 'Accio book.' Draco whispered, taking comfort in the cold leather of the diary.

'Alright. Most likely you've decoded the first page.' Draco gaped. How had Potter known…?

'You knew it was her diary. _Obviously_ you knew somehow. Bring it here.' Potter snapped his fingers. Once more, Draco loathed him. Schoolboy memories of Potter's refusal of his friendship plagued him as much as they had at 12 as they did at 80. Draco began to inch slowly forward again, as Potter snapped his fingers even more rapidly.

'I haven't got all day. There is an attack being planned at The Leaky Cauldron. I haven't got all _day_.' Potter's hand absentmindedly travelled to his pencil-thin scar. Angrily, Draco threw the slim book at the other man, seething as Potter caught it admirably.

Draco had started to twirl locks of silver-blond hair around his finger when Potter looked up from the yellowed parchment.

'I've got another page, I think.' Potter ran a hand over a leaf of the open book. 'Specialis Revelio!' He said sharply. The page shuddered before coming to a stop, its pages surprisingly blank.

Potter drew his wand, tapping it angrily against the front page, muttering a string of curses under his breath, his profanities increasing in number and volume as the book spewed a foul-smelling ingredient onto his nose.

Potter looked dismayed for a brief moment before a smile of relief spread across his maimed face.

'Forgive me for being such a ferret Hermione—' Draco scoffed, '—Crookshanks.' The pages turned wildly, black ink scribbling across the page, blotting before clearing up. 'Dear Diary.' Potter read. Draco took a deep breath. This was going to be difficult.

* * *

'Of course I love you Ron. I wouldn't say if it I didn't.' Hermione said crossly, angered at the redhead's lack of trust in her words. 

'_You seem oddly distant.' The latter replied, smoothing a strand of hair behind her ears._

'_It's just difficult for me; what with going through _drastic_ measures to get the information from Malfoy, and what with Percy's abandonment of the order—I suppose I've got a lot on my mind.' Hermione sighed, taking a seat by the bay window, admiring the view of the grey lake on her right side, admiring its tranquil appearance. _

'_Hermione Granger. You are twenty-nine years old, and the bravest woman I've ever met. I do love you. The war causes immense pain and emotional depression in the minds of the strongest witches and wizards. I hope you can forgive me for being a mediocre one of the latter simply trying to get by. I love you.' He repeated, and Hermione was pleased by his words. She kissed his cheek; satisfied by his words. _

_The last words of comfort she would ever hear. She looked into the blue eyes of her lover, the eyes of that which was her sanity, and ultimately her defeat. _

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_I think I'm on my own this time. Ron won't listen to anything I say, and Harry is unwavering in his decision. I gave in, like the fool I am. Harry says I will be returned as a pure and perfect angel after this ordeal. _

_He obviously is not thinking about Ginny—about what Malfoy did with her blood—her ruby-red blood. He called it virgin stains on the snow. As if _she _tainted the snow with her blood. The snow was pure, prefect, before her blood tainted the snow. There is no such thing as pure._

_My only friend other than Harry and Ron, murdered by the very self who craves my touch. It is a cruel world we live in, filled with hate and injustice._

_Hermione_

* * *

Draco's face was white. He had killed the Weasel girl, and had no regrets. Hermione had hated him. 

Harry's face was ashen.

'She has enforced the book with magic—the old magic. Her diary can only be decoded by those whom it concerns. This is about me—as well as you. Malfoy, we'll need to take a trip to the Weasleys.'

Draco sighed. Things just got a lot harder, and a hell of a lot more painful.

* * *

Remember to tell me what you think, this chapter is the half/betaed one, as my beta Ryan said he like the chapter, has done about two revisions, but not finished the third, so I just posted it anyway--I think you guys ahve waited long enough!

Faaiz-Yes, Draco's a good guy, if a somewhat bossy and annoying one, even at McGonagall's age!

Peaches,

Anya


	3. Suffering Weasley

Chapter 3

DCOD- Aww, thank you! Although you probably shouldn't hold your breath on the mission part (although I think it's pretty clear), but all will be revealed!

On another note, I really do hope you like this chapter, it was the product of A LOT of willpower to write, but I quite like this chapter, however short.

First Warning! -Use of the F word, twice by Draco (Sorry Krystal!)

On to the chapter!

---

Draco didn't miss the look of disgust on Weasel's mother's face. He noted the exact way her blue eyes narrowed, the slight grimace to the hard line of her mouth. He mentally recorded the way her nostrils flared as she stepped out of the doorway, her steps broad and quick. Was she still bitter after what he had done to her child?

'We don't have all day, and I'm not sure I would allow you in here for such even if we did.'

Ouch. Definitely harbouring some grudges there.

Potter casually stepped in front of him, a cordial smile pasted onto his face.

'Good afternoon Mrs. Weasley. I have come to you with some new information that my associates found,'—Draco scoffed, before being silenced by a harsh glare from Potter, to which he promptly sneered at—'It concerns Hermione.'

Mrs. Weasley's face softened, if just perceptibly, and she gestured to allow them in, her eyes settling on Draco's face. She was glaring at him, something a miniature Draco had been perfecting since his eleventh birthday. She stared, unblinking; face hard as marble, directly into Draco's eyes, narrowing them as she reached his pupils. It was designed to have a man stronger than himself cowering in his steps. Luckily for him, he was immune.

He managed, but not without extreme personal restraint, to pass the fierce, rounded woman before entering the hovel the Weasley's (at least the more senior ones) called their living quarters. He had seen better dwellings advertised in the _Quibbler_.

He ignored the empty atmosphere of the house, one that suggested that no one had lived there in a lifetime. It was almost scary, how much their kind had evolved since the war, one that had not yet been resolved. It was almost sickening to see Potter's face, the deadness in his eyes. The almost ready acceptance of this fate—how he had tried his hardest, and that it wasn't Draco's fault Potter was dead inside. He had tried; hadn't let Potter lose. Of course, he hadn't let him win either.

Draco allowed himself to be shepherded around this house like a sheep, if only to find the secret of what had happened to his Hermione.

'So you see Mrs. Weasley, this is our predicament. Draco and myself have managed to decode two of the pages, but a password must be provided for us to reach a suitable conclusion. We would like to conduct an experiment—if you wish, to read Hermione's diary.' Potter's voice cracked as he said her name. Draco sneered. What meaning did she have to him?

'Well, Harry, maybe it is best to simply leave it alone.' Mrs. Weasley cast a worried glance at Potter; Draco held his breath. Harry's face housed a brief flash of bewilderment, before retreating into its lifeless shell.

'Mrs. Weasley,' Draco interjected smoothly, coughing a bit before resuming his speech. 'I assure you that researching Hermione's diary is of utmost importance. For after all, she may have held information in her diary pertaining to Zabini, and Voldemort's reincarnation as the—' He was abruptly cut off.

'If Hermione has placed so many charms upon something so simple as a diary, then maybe…she didn't want you to read it? Did you ever stop to consider that?' Potter was spluttering with indignation, the look on his face expressing his dislike with the situation. Once more, Draco felt the need to interject.

'Mrs. Weasley, it has become apparent to us, that Hermione Granger's safety is no longer under your control. She has died, and there is no avoiding this fact.' The simplicity of this statement stopped the breath in Mrs. Weasley's throat.

'Very well, Malfoy, you have convinced me. I know now that I will _never _aid you, at all.' With a lightning-fast whorl she pointed a hazel wand at his throat. Draco saw Potter approaching her from the corners of his left eye.

"Now, now Molly, there is no worry. Just stay calm, and _everything _will be alright. Just remain silent, allow us to question you, it will all be so, so easy…" Draco turned his head slightly. What the _bleeding hell _was Potter doing?

"That's right Molly. Just remove the wand, there's a good witch, now I will count backwards from ten, and you will _do your best _to cooperate, won't you dearest? Lovely. 10—" Draco started angrily.

"Potter, what the _devil _are you—"

"9—"

"I'm serious, coercing people _is not _allowed!"

"8—"

"Potter! Merlin's balls, _Harry_!"

"7, 6, 5, 4, 3—"

"For God's _sakes_, stop!"

"2, 1." Mrs. Weasley opened her murky blue eyes, a dreamlike stupor descending over her features.

"Right. Let's go Molly, tell us something about 'Mione." Draco couldn't _fucking believe _the gall Potter had. The _Aducco was _a talent for which only the very gifted and fortunate wizards such as Potter (ugh) managed to possess. The very act of blind obedience, almost the Imperio, but it took a lot more than willpower to break the hold on one's mind. Potter had just used the Aducco on his own best friend's damned _mother_. Draco just held in a retch. Potter was a highly unstable individual.

"Well, Harry dear, Hermione never let word slip about a diary, of course, the silly girl probably had little time to bother with her life, anyway, eh?" Mrs. Weasley let out such a girlish giggle that Draco was having difficulty keeping the contents of his stomach in. Oh, ew.

"Actually, Harry, you might want to consult Ginny's diary on this. Silly child seemed to want nothing more to do than write down her little nonsensicalities with her little book. Imagine!" Mrs. Weasley's smile grew strained her eyes deeply intent upon an object three inches to the left of Draco's head.

"Molly, do you know where Ron is?" Harry's condescending smile was so cruel that even Draco, notorious taunter of children and First Years felt revolted.

"Well, no, dearie, but you can always try to send him a Wand Message. Heaven knows our Ron answers his wand. Is that all?" Draco could tell that the Aducco was wearing off. The hardness was back in her eyes, and the jaw was beginning to set.

"Thanks very much Molly. Do you know where Ginny's diary is?" Potter feigned a charming smile.

"Can't rightly say I do, possibly wouldn't tell you if I didn't." Draco stepped back suddenly. If Potter knew what was good for him, then he would just _goddamned _leave.

"Potter—" Draco warned.

"Alright, _thanks very much_ Molly. But first, Draco is going to cast a relaxing spell on you. Nothing serious, I assure you!" Potter's Aducco was not working as well as he might've liked. Mrs. Weasley was pulling forth her wand once more. Draco quickly sprang into action.

"Obliviate!" With a complicated flick of the wrist, Draco removed himself and Potter from Mrs. Weasley's memory.

"Somnus." The woman's eyelids eased shut, as Draco and Harry were wiped from her memory.

Harry took a deep breath.

"Let's go, Malfoy, before you strike me dumb with your questions." Draco opened his mouth and then closed it abruptly. Damned bugger was right _again_.

---

_Dear Diary,_

_It's becoming more and more difficult to write here, especially as the more I scribe, the closer Voldemort gets to finding out…especially with Zabini as his new target! Poor, poor Imeld, he was such a sweet boy—I find myself remembering my old diary, and can't help but wonder what became of it! Imagine if it had been discovered, and I were forced to bear the consequences. I can only imagine the repercussions of it falling into the wrong hands—mainly Draco's. I should fear for my life!_

_Irrevocably Yours,_

_Hermione_

---

Was the aducco spell kind of weird here? In italian, Adduco means persuade, but Aducco (ah-dOO-cho) sounded better here. Like, it, hate, it, could stomach...tell me!

As always,

Peaches,

Anya

P.S. Happy belated birthday to me!!


	4. Weasley's Always Finish First

**Chapter 4  
Weasley's Always Finish First**

Draco sighed with the tone of one who has lived his life a hundred times over—and was extremely tired with the monotony of it. At the age of eighty-four, he was old enough in the wizarding world, but an ancient in that of the Muggle. Since Hermione's—death? Disappearance?—he had taken to thinking in Muggle terms. His mind was strict, analytic. He scarcely allowed for moments of free space, and his whole life was based around manual, _menial_ work.

His mother and father had died long ago—in a serious raid that left nearly all Weasleys dead or dismembered, and Draco had felt…completeness. He felt as if their death was _meant _to happen—that it was to be expected. How could he—lower, worse than anything, have any concern for the mere hitches in the human world? His parents' death had been dreadfully anticlimactic. Their bodies had been found face down, in a large pile of animal shit and mud nested on a little farm in the very corners of Scotland. They found Lucius with a suspiciously glowing bag of fluids beside him, his lips curled in an omnipresent, rotting sneer. Narcissa's body had been ripped viciously apart, black holes where her eyes had been, staring sightlessly into the worms and maggots beneath them.

He'd brought them to Potter, and he'd been outwardly sobbing, although inwardly, he was perfectly _accepting_. Potter had raised an eyebrow and looked Draco straight into the eyes.

"Send them to Neville Longbottom," He'd said casually, and Draco had felt his face fall even farther. Neville Longbottom was the curator for the Dark's dead. Draco had felt that he needed _some _compensation for his _Lux Lucis _bond. They'd dragged him out of the room, he kicked and screamed in their arms, begging to have his parents back—just to have them buried like _normal _people. He'd been nineteen years old when he'd been told that no one was normal. Potter, younger than he, had already taken his reign of the world. He had everything, it seemed to Draco. Potter had friends, power, _her_. He didn't _have _her, not the way Draco wanted her, but it was close enough.

Draco envied Ron Weasley one thing—and that was the feel of Hermione's slender fingers cupping the redhead's cheeks every night. The smell of Hermione's hair under his nose, the taste of her skin between his teeth. Even now, Draco seethed as he remembered _them_, and how he'd wanted to be _him_, for _her_.

Draco had prepared the special batch of Amortentia, just for tonight. He'd felt like some kind of sick voyeur as he'd taken a strand of her hair while she'd been sleeping—he watched her for many hours.

_He looked curiously once more at the pale pink concoction, swirling around and dancing into marvelous shapes before his very eyes. The sweet aroma of _skin_, Hermione's skin, floated off the top of the potion, and the smell intoxicated him to the point of near madness. _

_He'd found his stones eventually, and snuck out of the common room with the practice of a professional, tripping over his friends?, Crabbe and Goyle, only twice._

_He found the Gryffindor common with more difficulty than the last time—it was darker now. Feeling like an absolute idiot, he whispered the password he'd wrangled from Longbottom a few days earlier._

"_Wrong!" The hideously fat lady in the portrait trilled happily._

"_What?" Draco asked._

"_I said that Numbskull Slytherins isn't the password. Changed the other day," she smiled, and the flesh jiggled dangerously below her chin. Draco let off a string of swearwords before he heard footsteps coming down the other end. Thinking quickly, he performed a Disillusionment spell on himself, and voices matched the thudding of the feet._

"_Ssshhh! We've got to be mmkf…quiet! Mmmmmm, stop it!" A girl giggled, and as she approached him, Draco noticed that it was Lavender Brown, wrapped in the arms of Seamus Finnegan. _

_Draco rolled his eyes as they stumbled through the password, a drunken, "How's your father?" and he entered behind them quickly, the portrait catching on his robes._

_He shrugged it off, worming his way through the Gryffindor common room, keeping a safe distance behind the snogging couple._

_He heard similar sounds coming from his left, and he stood absolutely still, hoping that this new complication wouldn't reveal him._

"_Maybe they heard us? Seamus and Lavender—who'dve thunk it?" The voice was distorted, speaking in an accent Draco couldn't place._

"_You didn't catch them last Wednesday? Lavender sounded like an absolute troll," Draco turned his head to the left—ever so slightly, and he saw Hermione. And _him

"_Lav? She's not so bad. Remember sixth year?"_

"_You were only dating her to make me jealous." Hermione declared resolutely._

"_Well, it worked didn't it? 'Sides 'Mione, you're the only girl for me," Ron smiled as Hermione blushed. "Hey, where's my kiss?"_

_Hermione smiled and pecked him on the cheek._

"_That wasn't what I meant," Ron said, and pulled her more firmly into his arms._

_Draco felt _extremely _voyeuristic now, but he couldn't turn away, the sick pleasure of watching Hermione happy, and the horror at seeing her with him tearing his heart in two._

_He looked lamely at the potion in his hands, the smell nowhere near as aromatic as the one coming off of Hermione just then, the smell of her sweat and her (even though it sickened him to admit it) arousal. _

She looked straight at him for a minute, and time seemed to stop as her brown eyes collided with his own grey ones.

"_Hermione? You okay?" Ron asked, and his voice with thick with—something._

"_Yeah. I thought I saw—forget it." Draco quickly turned around and clambered out—it would be difficult to explain her seeing Draco Malfoy in the Gryffindor common room._

_After he'd charmed his way out of the portrait (yeah right) he slumped against the wall, frightening a woman out of her painting as he pondered the Love Potion in his hands._

_Staring at it, he made his way to the common room—one purpose in mind._

_He walked over to the bathroom, and tossed the whole contents of the beaker down the sink, allowing the sweet aroma to envelop him once more._

**I'll make her fall in love with me. I will.**

-- --

_Dear Diary, _

Is everything alright? Is it all okay—I feel odd, I feel sick. I can't understand this me? Can I understand this you? I mean, I _mean__, I thought of him today. He was smiling at me, and I was young again—but then __**he **__came in and I was…alone…Ron was gone, and he was there. And now—Ron is gone, and he is here._

_Don't let him find me._

_Hermione_

A/n: Whoa….this was short…but hey, I updated! Review responses: ahem:

Ashley-In-Wonderland: Gracias! I thought I'd never seen it before, but these days you can't be sure…

DCoD: She really is…unforch there is none of her in this chapter…it's all _feelings_, urgh. (lol)…

ele: THANK YOU! And, to fulfill your request, I have updated! So there:) :)

FAQ:

Draco's eighty…is he? And if he is, how would Molly be alive.

Ok, there is this potion that de-ages the drinkers. This accounts for Harry's thirty-year-old appearance and Molly's hmm…fifty-year-old appearance? However, remember that when Dumbledore died, he was over one-hundred and fifty, so obviously things are different in the wizarding world, and therefore even without the potion, Molly can still be of a fairly advanced age.

Sorry for the length, and see ya next chapter!

Peaches,

Anya


	5. Nobody's Human

**Chapter 5  
Nobody's Human**

xHarryxPotterx: We'll just have to find out, won't we:)

LadyAlmondStar: Hi LadyAlmondStar/ele! V. cute names either way, I think. Nice to know you liked the diary entry…so did I, even though it even confused ME when I wrote it…

DCoD: Very Slytherin, but so _very_ Draco, in my opinion. Underneath his er,--clothes--, exterior, I always pictured Draco as the type of guy who prided even the littlest things he did himself—seeing as his life was handed over to him on a silver platter, of course.

-- --

"_Don't you ever imagine it, Draco? What would have happened had we _not _been this way? In a war, I mean."_

"_Really? No. I'd always felt that somehow—the two sides wouldn't be able to live together. Your side would always have your "righteous" views, and mine would always strive for the purification of the human race."_

"_But you don't think that any more, do you Draco?"_

"_Hmm?"_

"_Think that only _purebloods_ are human? And that the rest of us are all—mistakes?"_

"_It doesn't matter what I think Hermione—and what I do think is of no consequence to you. Regardless of what everyone else believes—you are as good as Pureblood. You are _mine_." He tried to soothe her, rubbing her shoulders, but she stiffened, and started muttering under her breath._

_He didn't like it when he made mistakes—Hermione tensed and seemed distant with him, even though she still smiled at him, still made love to him._

_She wasn't _his _Hermione when she was like that. Cold and distant—but still doing her job as _his

_Draco sighed then, and pressed his lips to the hollow of her neck._

"_I messed up again, didn't I, Hermione?" _

"_You'll always be a pureblood Draco, you can't change that. I just have to ask…"_

"_What?"_

"_Do you not think I'm human?"_

_Draco hesitated and Hermione sighed._

"_You can't change who you are Draco, and you shouldn't bother to try. I'll survive, somehow. It's time I learned to accept my place."_

_She wasn't crying, but Draco could hear age-old tears amongst her voice._

" _I love you, Hermione," he said, half-heartedly._

"_It's alright. You don't have to lie." She smiled and stood up slowly, allowing his arms to fall from around her. She left, and Draco felt immediately saddened._

_How could he explain that he didn't believe in human anymore? Because if Hermione wasn't human—what was? Hermione made his blood boil, his flesh curdle. And he loved her for it. If she wasn't human—who was human? His father, certainly not. Harry Potter—even less. Voldemort—the furthest from the concept at all. His father had always firmly believed that Mudbloods were lower than dirt—lower than anything. Hermione had challenged his views of the world—and it was ripping him apart._

_She wasn't human._

_He wasn't human._

Human was nothing, and nothing was everything.

-- --

"Shit on toast." Draco gasped loudly, his hand flying to cover his mouth. "Holy Mother of Jesus Fucking Christ," he said into his hands.

Potter smiled thinly and gestured expansively to the surroundings.

"This is the Golden Trio library. As you can see, there are the books devoted to all subjects Harry, there Ron, and finally we have Hermione." The library was bigger than all the books that had ever concerned the Malfoy history, Draco thought.

There were perhaps enough books in there to burn a pyre for all the deceased in the many wars, Draco's mind said uncharitably.

"What the shitting fuck do you need all this for?" Draco asked, his tone hoarse with the surprise of seeing all those books.

"Watch your language, Malfoy. This is Hermione territory," Potter warned, and with his oh-so-special wandless magic he shut the innocuously tiny door behind them. "We might find something to help us, here. Hermione was very gifted in terms of the _Occultus Lacuna. _Ever since Ginny's possession by Voldemort—as a result of _your_ father's foolishness, I might add—"

Draco rolled his eyes. Potter never missed an opportunity to insult Draco's parents.

"He's dead, Potter. Can't you accept these things for what they _are_?" Potter, always the socially acceptable do-gooder sobered immediately, and launched back into his speech.

"As I was saying, ever since Ginny's possession—she has thrown herself into the fineries of _Occultus Lacuna_ and it is quite easy to imagine that she might've employed it into a diary of her own—"

"Forgive me Potter, but I am not as well-versed in the language of Spanish—"

"It's _Latin_, Malfoy."

"—or whatever the hell kind of language you just spoke in. So shine a little light on the ex-Death Eater's limited intelligence, will you?"

"The _Occultus Lacuna_ is Latin for "Secret Words". It is used to describe hidden messages ingrained into everyday objects—"

"But wasn't Voldemort's diary a prime example of the _Servo Libri_, or talking book?"

"Keep up, Malfoy. Riddle's diary was nothing short of a horcrux. _Servo Libri_ aren't interactive. Don't be daft." Draco felt his blood beginning to boil, and had he been thirty years (give or take a decade) younger, he might've taken it onto himself to knock Potter's overgrown block off.

However, due to his damn good judgement (and rather arthritic limbs) he chose to keep his hands by his cane, and concentrated instead on glaring daggers into Potter's forehead.

Potter rolled his dull, glass-green eyes and gestured once more to the expanse of the library ahead of him.

"Exceedingly dull and hideous ferrets aside, _this_, or rather, most of _this_, is Hermione's. That means that books pertaining to the topics we are concerned with will be amongst these books. We've got a long way to go, Malfoy. You'd better start looking."

Draco looked at the mass of shelves and sighed dramatically.

"You are so foolish, Potter. You think like such a muggle! Have you not realised that we have wands?"

"What are you—oh. Right." Without so much as a thank you (which Draco _really _hadn't been expecting) Potter drew his wand and whispered a spell. Immediately, all books pertaining to the _Occultus Lacuna _spread themselves in front of the pair. Draco sighed, although it was in weariness this time. There had to have been over a hundred volumes piled above the pair's heads.

"Start looking, Malfoy. But please—hurry up. I haven't got all day."

Draco stared skyward, seeking some strength from the cathedral-like ceiling.

"If I get out of today alive, Granger, I'll read a goddamned book _everyday_. With Potter. Over a blasted muggle phone. At midnight." Draco promised silently, crossing his fingers behind his back. Some things would never change.

-- --

_Dear Diary, _

**_Help. _**_They are going to find out. _

_  
H _

-- --

a/n: Chapter Five was here! So…hate it? Love it? Tell me in a well-constructed review, or "omg I less than 3ed" your story works too.

Peaches,

Anya


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